


You're Pretty to Me

by sammyrun



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: E/R - Freeform, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyrun/pseuds/sammyrun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire knew he wasn’t the most beautiful sight to see. He knew he wasn’t what the girls called “handsome”, not even a motherly “cute”. He was just…Grantaire. And he had been okay with just being himself up to this grade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Pretty to Me

**Author's Note:**

> tw: beating/bullying

Grantaire kept his head down as he gently swung himself, his small hands wrapped around the metal chains that held the swing up. His curly black hair fell slightly across his eyes as he tried to keep out of the way as much as he could since the kids that tormented him every day were just a few feet away. How he managed to stay at the swings unnoticed for this long was beyond his knowledge.  
The ridicule he endured during school hours was more than enough for him. When he had saw the boys join the park, he thought of making a run for it, but he knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t approve of that cowardly move, so he just kept his head down and tried to look busy as he gently swung, afraid to move to another location. Even with his head down, the boys could easily recognize him anyway, but maybe they’d just think he was another kid if he couldn’t see the face they mocked every day for being ugly.  
Grantaire knew he wasn’t the most beautiful sight to see. He knew he wasn’t what the girls called “handsome”, not even a motherly “cute”. He was just…Grantaire. And he had been okay with just being himself up to this grade.  
Despite his effort to keep under the radar, one of the kids spotted him. He pointed over to him and began talking to his friends, his finger still pointing in the young boy’s direction even as he turned his head. Simultaneously, the boys looked up from the sand they were playing in to spot Grantaire, who was cringing and preparing himself for the normal insults spat in his direction. They all got up and wiped sand on their jeans, forming as group as they walked over. For a group of small boys no younger than eight, it was like a mob of biker men to Grantaire – intimidating and scary.  
“Hey, Ugly!” The first boy in the group called, crossing his arms as they stopped in front of his swing. The small boy looked up, much like a puppy getting yelled at by his owner, his hair still in his eyes as he tried to shrink back. He felt so small compared to those boys. Small and helpless. “Why’s your hair in your eyes? Do you not know how to brush it away? Or are you crying like a little baby?” The kids behind him began to laugh and pretend to cry, and another one spoke up.  
“I don’t think you want him to move his hair, Blaise, he might blind you with his ugliness!” The young crowd erupted in laughter as the boy in the front, Blaise, kicked his swing, making him violently swing to the right. “Could you please leave me alone?” Grantaire asked quietly, kicking dirt up as he stopped himself from swinging.  
The boy looked down at the dirt settling back down and chewed on the inside of his tongue, obviously a trait he got from someone older and tougher than him. He looked as if he was concocting something to say, possibly words to pick a fight. One of the boys came up from the back and began to whisper in the bully’s ear before shuffling back to his place.  
Blaise walked up to Grantaire, crouching down so he could see Grantaire’s eyes, using one of the swing’s handles as balance. “Stop being a baby and fight, or I’ll start.” The boy didn’t move, he just closed his eyes, and the bully shrugged, standing up. “You know you really piss me off, you’re so ugly you just make me wanna –“ Before the shaggy haired boy even knew what was coming, a fist connected harshly to his cheek, making him fall to the ground. “-- Punch you.”  
Grantaire looked like a kicked puppy that was too small to fit in with the rest of his group – truly he was. He was too small for his age and vulnerable, the exact opposite of the boys he was facing. He stumbled up, holding his cheek where he had been punched and staggered up and faced the bully, flicking his hair out of his eyes. The boys behind him shielded their eyes dramatically. “It’s blinding! The ugly is blinding! Make it stop!” Before Grantaire could throw a punch, he was kneed roughly in the stomach, and he doubled over.  
Some of the other boys pushed him down again and proceeded to kick him, making him curl up and try to protect his face with his hands and his stomach with his knees as much as he could. He held back tears as all of the boys spit insults down at their prey - all of them dealing with how he looked. Ugly, blinding, terrifying, even Ugly-taire came up, which was definitely new to him.  
Suddenly, the kicking and the insults stopped and were replaced by yelling, footsteps as the kids scattered away, and rocks hitting the ground with a thud, and then silence. Slowly, Grantaire raised his throbbing head, wincing as every time he moved his arm and shoulder. He looked around, trying to see if any of the kids were in sight, but there were none.  
He breathed a sigh of relief and slowly lifted himself up in a sitting position as he let a tear slip from his eye. His limbs ached and his heart hurt with the words that they had spewed at him, and the reality that everything that was said that day was true. Absolutely, utterly, painstakingly true. He really was ugly, retched looking, and “Ugly-taire.” He wasn’t okay with being what he saw was okay anymore. More tears fell from his eyes, and he quickly wiped them away as he heard more footsteps from behind him.  
He looked up to see none of the bullies, but a boy. A boy around his age that he didn’t recognize, with curly, dirty blonde hair and deep blue eyes. His face had dirt smeared on the side, and his features made him look tough. But something in those features also made him look very kind and lightheaded deep down. He sat down on a swing beside him.  
“I chased away those boys for you.” The boy said after a few moments of silence, looking down at his feet. Grantaire didn’t answer, he just staggered up, holding his cheek and wincing at the bruises on his legs and ribs and sat down on the swing, looking down and occasionally wiping a tear away as discreetly as he could as the two strangers sat in silence.  
“What’s your name?” Grantaire closed his eyes, gently rubbing the welt that was forming on his cheek.  
“Grantaire.”  
The boy frowned. “That’s a weird name, but I like it. I’m Enjolras.”  
Grantaire side glanced at the boy, cocking his head. “I guess it is.” He thought for a moment. “Why did you stop those boys?”  
It was Enjolras’ turn to give the boy a funny look. “Why wouldn’t I? They were hurting you.”  
“You don’t know me.”  
The blonde haired boy pondered his response for a moment. “Just because I don’t know you, doesn’t mean I can’t help you. Besides, what they were saying was all wrong.” Grantaire raised his eyebrows, wincing because even that simple gesture hurt to do. “How were they wrong?”  
“Because you’re actually very pretty.” The boy blurted out innocently, not knowing the impact of his words. The words tumbled out of his mouth easily without any type of hesitation or any sign given to show he was lying to try and help the boy’s self-esteem. The boy, despite having Grantaire just met him, didn’t seem like the type to do that. For someone no older than ten years old, he seemed bitterly honest, and Grantaire didn’t know what to say to that.  
His mouth opened, then closed, trying to form words to say. He just stuttered. He didn’t know what to say to something like that. He’d never been called ‘pretty’ in his young life. He finally stammered out a small “Really?”  
“Yes, really! Your hair is really nice, and I like your eyes. I wish mine were like that. Why do they call you ugly?” Grantaire shrugged, looking down, his face hot and flushed.  
“Well, I think you’re the opposite of that, even with those ugly bruises on your face. Do you need help cleaning up? Come on, we could go get some water.” He got and walked over to the boy, helping him up, as he was in no position to even walk to the water fountain just a few yards away. Grantaire didn’t know how to react.  
He didn’t know the boy, and wouldn’t trust anyone he didn’t know to walk him anywhere, but Enjolras was different. Because in Grantaire’s eyes, Enjolras wasn't just another kid because all of the "other kids" made fun of him. In Grantaire's eyes, Enjolras was strong and worthy of being looked up to. He was different, and in Grantaire's eyes, Enjolras was pretty, too.


End file.
